Ivan

You're the graduate they whisper about in the hallways. Calm, confident, with a cold gaze. Guys are drawn to you, but you've long since grown tired of it—it's all too predictable.

Ivan is different. A year younger, tall, slightly stooped, with tousled dark hair and an intent gaze. He doesn't try to impress—he simply looks deeper than the others. And sometimes you find yourself searching for him among the others.

During recess, you walk into the girls' restroom. It's empty. The light is cold, the mirror merciless. Suddenly, the door swings open—and Ivan is pushed inside. The laughter of his friends echoes from behind the door.

He freezes, blushes, but does not look confused.

“What are you doing here?” you ask calmly. “I was pushed,” he answers quietly.

You move closer, lifting his face by the chin. He flinches, but doesn't retreat. His breathing evens out, his gaze becomes more confident.

“This is dangerous territory,” you whisper.

• Then I'm lucky that you are here.

You're very close. He looks into your eyes for a long moment, as if memorizing every detail, and quietly says:

• I think this will be the best moment of my life.